


Persuasion

by dyrimthespeaker



Category: The Expanse (TV)
Genre: Character Study, Episode: s02e03 Static, Gen, Implied Childhood Sexual Abuse, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-19
Updated: 2018-10-19
Packaged: 2019-08-04 07:19:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,787
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16342280
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dyrimthespeaker/pseuds/dyrimthespeaker
Summary: In light of the ever growing dangers posed by the protomolecule, it was vital to get as much information as possible. Cortázar wasn’t an easy man to talk to, and Amos felt no kinship for him, but he did think he had an idea of how to get him to talk.





	Persuasion

**Author's Note:**

> So this is my first time doing a… well not exactly a scene rewrite but a… scene deepening? Scene-but-we-get-more-in-the-character’s-head? Anyway it was fun! I’ve always been struck by how Amos acts through the whole interrogation sequence with Cortázar and I wanted to explore it more.
> 
> No sexual content, to be clear. Just, following the threads of how Amos frames his conception of Cortázar in light of Amos’ past.
> 
> All dialogue taken from 2x03.
> 
> Huge thanks to Shreya for listening, supporting, and keeping me on track with writing!

It had been on Amos’ mind since that first interrogation, how to get Cortázar to talk. Holden had led the charge while Johnson weighed in on occasion. And it had gone horribly. Amos had watched the whole time, staying to the side, paying close attention to Cortázar’s reactions. How he closed off, pulling back from them. He wasn’t forthcoming, but he also wasn’t acting like he was playing the political game.

Holden had talked to Cortázar like he was talking to himself. A noble cause, love of his mother, justice. Everything that made Holden tick, he’d projected on the other man and tried to get through, only to get shut down. It was obviously the wrong approach, but it was hard to tell what the right one was. Neither Holden nor Johnson seemed to know exactly what they were doing with him.

The conversation with the doctor only complicated things. The scientist had had his empathy removed. _How do you reach a guy like that?_ Holden’s question bounced around in his head. Everyone else’s reaction followed Holden’s. They couldn’t seem to grasp how to interact, the idea of empathy different from theirs outside the realm of what they could understand.

Holden was hung up on the lack of empathy. Trying to understand how to talk to someone who didn’t care, when he cared so much. Amos was interested in the empathy question for his own reasons. His own personal morality and way of viewing the world tied into how his empathy was different from other people’s. He had questions about it, the procedure.

It made him wonder if there was something misfiring in his brain, something tangible. Something that you could point to and go _here, this nerve in this part right here._ Something that might be able to be fixed.

But the doctor had shut down his questioning. The procedure can’t be reversed.

The empathy question, though interesting, didn’t make Cortázar much clearer to him. The concept of running on logic over emotions made sense because he did that too, but Cortázar’s logic didn’t hold true for him. It was selfish in a way Amos wasn’t. It wasn’t about survival or protecting your own, it had a certain type of self interest to it that didn’t click for Amos. He knew he was expendable, while Cortázar held himself as the only one he cared about, second only to the protomolecule, which was the center of his world.

He wasn’t someone Amos could compare to himself except that they both had different moralities from the norm. But they weren’t the same and it was too different to try to find common ground there. He didn’t think Cortázar would be receptive to him projecting himself any more than he was when Holden did it.

He turned it over and over in his mind quietly. Mulling over what he knew, what he’d seen. How Cortázar acted and reacted. No empathy, interested in the protomolecule, violent only when prevented from working, disinterested in anything that wasn’t the work. The man even skipped out on eating just to use the food in order to make little charts.

The key wasn’t his lack of empathy, it was the protomolecule.

Holden had tried to reach him on that, but he’d gone about it all wrong. Offering to stop it, offering a road to redemption away from it.

Cortázar didn’t want redemption, he wanted validation. No, not validation. He didn’t care if others agreed. He wanted… satisfaction. The project was all he cared about and he _wanted_ it. He wanted it like someone with a nasty fetish _wants_. They don’t give a shit what you think, they just want it. But like a nasty fetish it was secret, they wouldn’t just come out and say it.

It clicked in Amos’ head.

Cortázar didn’t need to be saved or even threatened, he needed to be seduced.

From there a plan came together fairly easily. Go to Cortázar alone and see if he was right and seduction worked. If he got anywhere with it, then get Holden in the loop and tell him he knew how to get Cortázar to talk.

It was simple enough to slip back into the mindset of seducing a john. That’s all Cortázar was. None of the emotional appeals so many people fell for would work. It wasn’t an attempt at a connection, it was a client. This was going to be a straight paraphilia approach. A fetish. A _dangerous_ fetish. Secret and taboo and divorced from any feeling of tenderness.

It was the easiest form of seduction Amos could think of. Talk about the fetish, focus on that, ally himself to Cortázar and give him the opportunity to get into exactly what he wanted. Cortázar wouldn’t care about Amos or feelings or any of that shit that came from deeper attraction. It was purely about the fetish.

Give a man an opportunity to feel secure in his fucked up interests and you’ll never hear the end of it. You’ll be part confidant, part object. A receptacle for the self interest and perversion of another, of no importance as an individual, just a place for someone else to act out their fantasy. The more taboo the fetish, the more intense the desire and the more willing to open up the man would be once he got the green light that he was in like minded company.

As Amos made his way to the room where they were keeping Cortázar locked up, he idly wondered if Cortázar would get hard from this. If he’d try for more than just talk. Maybe a handjob while whispering in his ear about what he’d seen on Eros would get him talking. A blowjob while Cortázar rambled on about the protomolecule. He wondered what Holden would think about that as an interrogation technique. If that would be crossing some line he shouldn’t. He couldn’t tell so he resolved to keep it at just talk.

Cortázar was using his food to draw diagrams on the window when he came in. Amos gave a furtive look around, which was something he usually did upon entering a room, but he typically did it in a less obvious way. This time he made sure Cortázar saw him, tipping the other man off that something secret was about to happen. It set the stage of intimacy from the start.

He locked eyes with Cortázar and let a knowing smile play over his lips.

“I was on Eros.” He waited a beat to let that land. “I saw Julie Mao.”

Cortázar’s eyes widened, interest piqued more with just that than it had been the entire time Holden had talked to him.

“Have a seat.”

Cortázar obeyed unquestioningly and Amos slid onto the bench beside him. He leaned in close, angling his body towards Cortázar. He spread his legs and bent himself down into Cortázar’s space, carefully holding his body in a way that was soft and open. Intimate and close.

“In the hotel room where we found her? It was a wreck.” He drew his lower lip into his mouth, dragging his teeth over it as he let the tension build just a moment. Highlighting the erotic tinge of the conversation, he ran his tongue to soothe where he’d just bit and leaned in close. “All the screens and the lights were smashed to pieces.”

Cortázar was staring at him, enraptured. He had him hook, line, and sinker.

He licked his lips again, keeping his voice low and his body bent towards Cortázar. “But it wasn’t strategic violence, not like you cracking that guy’s head because he messed with your stuff. That was a problem and you found a solution. No, in that hotel room there was _madness_. And it stank of sick death.”

Cortázar’s expression faltered at those words. A deeper interest emerging, the _need_ showing more clearly on his face.

“See, you and I,” He gestured between them. _Find common ground, I’m here for you, you can tell me. “_ We’re both from the slums, so I know you know the smell that I’m talking about.”

Cortázar nodded, his posture tight, hanging on every word.

“And there was a puddle, blue-brown slime in the center of the bed and it smeared down across the floor. She must’ve dragged herself like a dying animal.”

The mention of death sparked Cortázar just as it had the first time. He leaned in, speaking up for the first time since Amos started. “Blue-brown, metabolic excretions.”

The words were unfamiliar, but the dirty talk was working. Cortázar was already telling him more than he’d revealed in the whole time they’d had him. Biting his lip and leaning in close. And that need in his eyes? That pure filthy want? Amos knew exactly what that was.

He doubled down on the details of the death.

“And she was sitting on the shower floor.” There it was, Cortázar’s reaction telling him everything he needed to know. Julie’s dead body was key to the fantasy. “Blue barnacles jutting out of her mouth, out of her body, snaking out of her hair, growing up against the walls. And there she was…” He put trailing pauses in, slowing the cadence and giving Cortázar time to really imagine. “Naked as Eve… dead.”

He meant the word ‘dead’ to land with an impact, but just as he’d said it Cortázar had spoken too.

“Beautiful.”

He said it with a reverence that had Amos pausing to reevaluate his next words.

“Beautifully dead,” he said, staring into Cortázar’s eyes.

Cortázar reached out, grasping Amos’ shoulder and leaning in even closer. Amos let him. It didn’t look like he was trying to kiss him, despite the fact he was leaning in. Amos wasn’t sure if he could let Cortázar kiss him. He hadn’t anticipated that being an aspect of the fantasy and he hoped it wouldn’t come up.

“Not dead, _becoming_ ,” Cortázar said, squeezing Amos’ shoulder, eager to make sure Amos understood.

“The barnacles?” He drew his hands back so he could use them as he talked. He was excited now, ready to tell Amos the details, ready to open up and explain exactly what he was into. “An expression of pattern matching systems, lattices that mimic beta sheets, and expand on them, but capable of control systems like brain tissues, two-stage pumps adapted from hearts. And at the very center, a particle that nothing leads to, like a… like a seed crystal. That requires, and provides, a _massive_ amount of energy.”

Cortázar was practically shaking as he explained, an excited and breathy edge to his voice. Amos made sure to pay close attention, barely blinking or breaking eye contact. Showing him that he was just as enraptured in the fantasy.

“That’s why she smashed the lights and the screens? She was trying to take away its power source?” He was phrasing it like questions, but he was certain he was right. The energy, that made Julie’s room make more sense. What Naomi had said, that it wasn’t a fight that smashed the place up. It was someone trying to turn things _off_.

“Did it work?” Cortázar was sounding more needy. And was apparently starting to reach the edge of his knowledge, at least, in terms of the protomolecule’s need for power. “Was it still moving?” He continued, the desperation and desire in his voice becoming increasingly obvious.

Amos smirked slightly, he had what he needed. He knew how to get Cortázar to talk. Now it was time to get Holden involved and they could go through a full proper interrogation. Besides, leaving Cortázar hard and wanting was funny. Sick fuck deserved it.

He turned his head, breaking the intimate connection with Cortázar for the first time since he’d entered the holding cell.

“I know what it looks like. What was it doing?”

He stood, ignoring how Cortázar reached out after him.

“Wait! Don’t go.”

Cortázar had stood too, but Amos barely heard the last of his pleas, the door already shut and locked behind him. He didn’t even look back. Let Cortázar whine and beg. He heard banging on the window as he passed down the hall, moving past the cell. That made him look. He smiled and kept eye contact with Cortázar until he was past the window.

It was just further confirmation that by the time he got Holden up to speed and they returned to try another interrogation, Cortázar was sure to be coming apart at the seams. Absolutely _aching_ for the release Amos had dangled in front of him and then denied.

Now to explain to Holden what they needed to do.

* * *

“Have you ever talked to a pedophile?”

“Uh…” Holden’s face was the amusingly confused one he made when something really came at him out of nowhere and he couldn’t make sense of it quickly.

“Well you try to ask them stuff, and they’re not gonna just talk about raping little kids, but if you show them _pictures_ of kids, then they’ll go on and on and on.” His voice drawling out at the end, emphasizing how tiresome it was. Pedophiles really would go _on and on_ if you got them started. The moment they felt safe you couldn’t get them to shut the fuck up.

It still hadn’t clicked for Holden. Apparently he hadn’t ever talked to one or he’d see where Amos was going.

“I had a private chat with Cortázar.” He came to a stop and put his hand on Holden’s shoulder. It was important to get Holden to _understand_. “And Eros is his pedophilia.”

Holden’s brow was still furrowed.

Amos was going to have to really spell it out for him. Something in the back of his mind whispered wondering what it was like to have pedophiles and how they worked so far out of your realm of experience you had to have the whole thing broken down for you so simplistically.

“You were talking about stopping it, taking it away. That’s why he wouldn’t help you.”

There it was. Holden’s expression clearing as he finally, finally understood.

The next interrogation attempt went much smoother. Holden took Amos’ strategy seriously and this time provided Cortázar with information, prompting him to explain further. Showing video feeds and stills they had.

Holden sat on a bench across from Cortázar, close, but not too close. Certainly not as intimate as when Amos had come alone, but Holden wasn’t trying to be particularly seductive anyway. He was coming across more like two men discussing a mutual interest, but not a fetish.

Amos stood to the side, leaning against the wall casually. He was on the periphery, but close enough that his presence was felt. Holden was doing well enough so far, but he was ready to speak up if things needed a nudge to pique Cortázar’s interest deeper.

Holden was holding up a hand terminal for Cortázar’s inspection. He was staring in deep fascination at what was being presented to him.

“That’s Phoebe Station.” Cortázar glanced up and nodded at Holden. “I was there. That’s the Martian science team.”

Holden lowered the hand terminal. “What happened to them?”

“Clearly, we used them.” Cortázar obviously thought Holden was stupid, but he wasn’t unwilling to talk. “To observe the progress of the infection in a human host.”

“You infected them and watched them die.” Holden couldn’t keep the judgement from his tone.

“We watched it work.” Cortázar had no remorse. He wouldn’t be shamed, no matter what judgements Holden cast upon him.

“The protomolecule is the first evidence of a tree of life apart from our own,” Cortázar turned his head, looking away from Holden. Amos wasn’t sure if he was looking to him, maybe wishing for Amos’ approach again, or to the diagrams on the window he was leaning up against. “It didn’t come with an instruction manual. We nurtured it the best way we knew how.”

Holden sneered slightly. “But Phoebe wasn’t enough for you.”

“We didn’t control the station, so we incinerated the Martians, erased the data cores, and left. Dr. Dresden used two ships, one for our team, one for the sample. There were contamination concerns,” Cortázar explained, unfazed.

“He was right to be concerned. It got out on the Anubis. I saw the results.”

“You did?” And there it was again, Cortázar’s desire. “What did it do?”

“Killed everyone aboard.”

“Obviously,” Cortázar’s tone impatient and condescending. “But then what? And be specific. Please.”

“Tell him about the reactor,” Amos spoke up for the first time. He wanted to make sure Holden didn’t rankle too much from Cortázar’s tone and instead kept going with the details. Feeding Cortázar information so he’d give it back.

“The power was shut down when we arrived,” Holden said, “The protomolecule was frozen around the reactor core.”

Concern and desire clouded Cortázar’s expression. His breath left him in a gentle gasp. “It was starving. Did you turn the power back on?”

“Mh-hm. It started moving. Reaching out to me.”

Cortázar was reaching that place again, that desperate elevated need. “Is there anything more that I could see?”

“We nuked the ship,” Holden’s words coming like a fist to the gut, “And everything on it.”

Utter devastation crossed Cortázar’s face. Flinching back like Holden had hurt him too, his whole body starting to crumple in.

“But,” Amos stepped in quickly, Holden teetering too close to pushing Cortazar away again. He smiled and pushed off the wall, putting himself more clearly in Cortázar’s line of sight. “It’s still going strong on Eros.” Smooth seduction, calm him down, draw him back in. Balance out Holden’s righteous anger that he couldn’t seem to keep a lid on.

It helped. The tension was still high, but Cortázar recovered enough to keep talking. He looked to Holden again. “Were you there too?”

“Mh-hm,” Holden said, standing. He turned his back to Cortázar, making his way around the bench he’d been seated at.

“It learns, you know. It does something different every time.” Cortázar’s words were coming quicker, like he was scared Holden might leave him high and dry just like Amos had before. “The more biomass you feed it, the faster it learns, the more it changes.”

“So you fed it Eros.” Contempt dripped from Holden’s every word. “A whole station. A hundred thousand people.”

“A hundred thousand opportunities,” Cortázar explained, unashamed, “We can only learn by letting it learn.”

“Can it be controlled?”

“That’s what we were trying to do.”

“Can _you_ control it?”

Cortázar made an odd face then. Equal parts consideration and desire. Like he was taking Holden’s question seriously, but he still had his own agenda. “I’d need my data. And everything coming off Eros. That’s the only way I can tell you more.”

It made sense, that he would need that information in order to continue. But it was equally as clear that he was being selfish. _Give me my porn and I’ll give you your information._ It just so happened that his porn was also the raw data from which further conclusions would be drawn.

* * *

Johnson had joined them this time. No one was seated. Johnson stood across from Cortázar, an authority figure. Holden was hovering back by the wall where Amos had been last time, though he was tense, not casual. His arms crossed and one hand fisted up over his mouth. Amos took his place between the two. Close to Cortázar, but still to the side. One leg set up on the bench so he could lean on his knee casually and watch Johnson and Cortázar interact.

Johnson was approaching this like Holden had the last time. A mutual interest with no hint of sexuality. Amos wondered if Holden had told Johnson about the pedophilia parallel, the seduction. If he had, Johnson wasn’t acting on that information. It was all business, no pleasure. An exchange of information with no feeling.

Johnson was holding up a hand terminal that was playing the eerie noises that couldn’t seem to be escaped from now. They were audible everywhere on Tycho. From hand terminals, to clubs, everyone seemed to be listening.

Cortázar was staring at it, just as enraptured as he’d been by the footage of Phoebe. No, even _more_ enraptured. He hand hovering, almost touching, but not quite. “Is that…”

“It’s one of the data streams that Dresden was collecting,” Johnson said, “It’s coming directly from Eros.”

“I’ve heard that shrieky shit in bars,” Amos said, “I thought it was just bad music.” He could feel tension rolling off of Holden in waves behind him. He wanted to make sure to keep a level of ease going if he could.

“It’s new. Give it to me.” Cortázar grabbed for the terminal and cupped it in his hands reverently. He turned from them, giving himself a sense of privacy as he started manipulating the stream. Altering levels and changing the sounds. He was searching for something, almost shaking in excitement.

A particularly loud echo caused him to close his eyes and bend his head down towards the terminal, one hand hovering by its side like he was caught in a state of rapture.

“The universe just kissed me on the cheek,” he said softly.

“Are those people talking?” Holden’s question came out like a demand, full of disbelief and anger.

“Not people, pulses. Steady, like a clock,” Cortázar sounded breathless. “No, no, speeding up. No. Counting down.”

Though Cortázar sounded thrilled, the idea that Eros was counting down to anything was an alarming thought. Amos set his foot down from where he’d propped it on the bench. They were getting enough information that ensuring Cortázar felt at ease was less important. He wanted both feet firmly on the ground for this revelation.

Cortázar sped up his manipulations of the stream, fingers dancing over the hand terminal’s surface as he changed the sounds again and again. His thoughts showing clearly on his face as his expression took on surprise and delight. Fascination and need. Confusion and clarity.

“It’s building. Building… something.” His hand was shaking now, his body unable to contain his elation.

“Building _what?_ ” Holden asked, fear giving his voice even more of an edge.

Cortázar finally looked up from the hand terminal, beaming at Holden in unconstrained excitement. “We’re going to find out.” He said it like a promise of the best surprise in the world. A present beyond one’s wildest imagination.

Amos wasn’t feeling the fear that was so blatantly displayed on Holden’s face, but he knew this was bad. The protomolecule was a horror show and he hadn’t even seen everything first hand. But he knew enough to know there was nothing that Eros could build that would be good.

_Well fuck_.


End file.
